Darien
“YO, MOTHERFUCKER, I got a problem,” Gunner says, lying on the bench lifting weights.
“Do I look like Dr. Phil to you?” I pick up a dumbbell, lifting it above my head.
Gunner ignores my comments and says, “You know the blondie I took to the gala? She won’t stop fucking calling me.”
My phone buzzes in my gym shorts, so I set the weights down on the floor. I grab it and Alana’s picture pops up on the screen. I read her text message.
Red
Should I wear underwear?
Red really is trying her hardest for me to keep the deal. Gonna have blue balls for the rest of the month. Feeling her way more than I should. I ignore her question and place my phone back into my pocket.
“You’re always attracting psychos,” I say, lying back down, lifting a bar in the air and bringing it back down to my chest. Women always claim him as his boyfriend. He needs to stop buying chicks gifts and shit. The last woman, Sofia, sliced his tires, egged his car, and threatened to sue his ass for sexual harassment at the job. I told him to stop sticking his dick into his co-workers. One day, he is gonna stick his dick in the wrong woman and might end up in the hospital or, worse, dead. My phone buzzes again and I read Alana’s text message.
Red: You didn’t answer my question. Send me a dick pic.
Me : I’m not fucking you. Can’t. At the gym.
She sends me a picture of her tits in a lacy red bra. She’s sitting on her bed.
Me: Stop making me hard.
Red: That’s the whole point. I’m not gonna wear any panties. :)
Me: Wear something casual.
This woman is going to be the death of me.
Gunner sits up on the black bench.
A pretty woman with amber eyes and dark brown hair removes weights from the bar. Rolling her eyes, she says, “Can’t you find your own gym to work out at, Gunner?”
“Remember, I own this gym,” he says, and continues bench-pressing the weights. The little woman disappears to the cleaning station, grabbing an antibacterial spray from the white shelf. Hair spills over her shoulders as she leans over Gunner, smiling, spraying his white shirt. The shirt turns a pale blue. I burst out laughing.
“Gia! What the fuck are you doing?” he yells, snatching the bottle from her, tossing it to the floor. She takes a step back, planting her hands on her hips.
“I don’t want to catch anything from you,” she says. “You’re the biggest manwhore I ever met, and I don’t want your airborne diseases.” She pouts, turns towards me, and says, “You better watch yourself, you might get a disease by association.”
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Gunner says, snatching his gym bag from the floor. “Can’t believe she is running me out of my own gym.”
Inside the car, I say, “You gotta stop sticking your dick in crazy women.”
“That’s the weird thing, I never stuck my dick in her. She hates my guts for no reason.” He hits the blinker and turns onto Lafayette Street.
“Nah, women don’t hate just to hate. You did something to piss that little devil off,” I murmur.
“Okay, Dr. Phil. Anything else you want to add?”
“Yeah, hurry up and get me home. I have a hot date with your sister tonight,” I say, drumming my fingers on my lap.
The movie theater parking lot is packed with families and teenagers. I hold Alana’s hand. She tries to pull away, but I grip harder.
“This is a date, Alana, so act like we are on one or else I will take you over my knee.”
Her face flushes and she says, “I’m not wearing any panties.”
She has a big-ass grin plastered on her face and it takes everything in me not to slide my hand under her short blue skirt. Cock tease. Bet she wore that skirt and knee-high socks just to tease me, and it’s working. My balls are going to be so blue that they might bust.
We make it to the counter.
“What would you like to see?” the perky clerk says.
“Two tickets to see Suicide Squad,” I say, pulling my wallet from my back pocket and handing her my debit card.
“The movie won’t start for an hour,” the lady says, swiping my card before handing it to me.
“We can get something to eat,” Alana suggests. I order her food from the stand, and we sit on the blue couch.
“Where did you grow up at?” She rolls up the sleeves of her white sweater.
“I grew up in Ocean City,” I answer. She takes two huge bites of her hot dog.
“I grew up in Newark. I wanted to go to college right after high school, but I didn’t.” She finishes her hot dog in three bites. I sling my arm around her neck, stroking her shoulder.
“Why didn’t you?” I ask. She snuggles under me, trying to get comfortable, and tucks her legs under her butt. I turn my view to the lit lobby. Two dark-skinned boys are chasing each other around the concession stand, and their father threatens to ground them if they don’t stop running.
“Charles wanted to go to college first, so I worked for Gunner. I didn’t see any need to go at the time because Gunner paid me so well.” She takes a swig of her orange soda and says, “I know you graduated from NYU. How was college? Was it like anything you saw on TV? Weed, parties, and sex?”
“Well . . .” I move my hand to her knee and squeeze lightly. Bad. Fucking. Idea. My dick is so hard, it hurts against the zipper. “I smoked a shitload of weed, fucked so many girls, and partied so hard that I almost flunked out.” I run my hand through her hair that covers her shoulders. She never wears it down, and it smells like strawberries or something fruity. It’s soft and silky. “Horny boys and colleges are like kids in a candy store. Were Tate and Charles your only lovers?”
Her cheeks turn tomato red, and she says, “Yeah. I lost my virginity to Charles when I was sixteen years old, and we got married at seventeen.”
She was too young to get married. When I was that age, I was too busy trying to get my dick wet. I think I had two girlfriends at the time—Wendy and Mindy. One was my backup girl when the other one was on her period.
The screen on the big wall flashes Suicide Squad now playing. We stand up from the couch, and she dumps her empty paper plate in the trash can, and we head to the theater.
As we sit in the red velvet chairs, Alana drapes her legs over mine and I rub my hand on her thigh. I know I said no sex, but goddammit, she is tempting me like Snow White was tempted by that ugly hag with the apple. Red, delicious, and shiny. Gently, I continue to stroke her thigh, and she looks at me with seductive eyes. “Keep your eyes on the screen, sweetheart.”
She looks away, removing her white sweater, exposing a black tank top. I slide two fingers inside her bare pussy. She wasn’t lying when she said she wasn’t wearing any panties and she’s soaked and slippery—just how I like her. Alana sucks in a breath, and her round cheeks turn fifty shades of red. My aching dick wants to be eased from the pain. Bad idea. Bad. Idea. Can’t keep my hands off her to save my life.
She places the sweater on her lap, covering up my arms.
“We are going to get caught,” she whispers.
“We might, but you look sexy as fuck when you are nervous.” I place my thumb on her clit and stroke gently, and she lets out a sexy moan.
“Beg me to make you come.” I stop stroking her.
“W-what?” Her mouth is wide open and I’m tempted to shove my dick in it.
“Beg me, or I’ll stop. You thought you were gonna tease me and get away with it.”
She wraps her small fingers around my hand and strokes herself. That’s fucking hot. “Asshole,” she whispers.
“We both established that. Now beg.” I remove my finger from her pussy, and she holds my hand tighter.
“Fine, please,” she whispers.
“Please what?” I smirk.
“Make me come.”
I begin to stroke her clit again, and she gasps and her mouth forms the letter “O.”
The theater is packed, but everyone’s eyes are glued to the screen except a boy’s. He watches us for a few seconds and goes back to watching the movie. I turn my view to Alana, and she’s shaking her head, biting her pouty bottom lip.
“Never had sex in public,” she whispers, digging her nails into my hand.
“There is a first time for everything.” I continue to stroke her gently, and her pussy salivates all over my fingers, and she places her hand over her mouth as she pulses on my fingers. Removing my finger, I lick it. Her sweet come flavors my mouth. She is one of my favorite things to taste.
“I thought you said no sex,” she says, removing her legs, setting her brown ankle boots to the dark carpet.
“Yeah, I meant no penetration. We can touch each other.” I curse myself inwardly for backtracking.
“That was so hot,” she says and kisses my chin. “I want to do that again.”
“You’re turning into an adrenaline junkie?”
“Maybe. Would you be interested in public banging?” She traces her fingers on my earlobe.
“As long as I get to fuck, eat, and lick you, I don’t care where we do it at.” I kiss her lips.
Almost two hours later, the movie is over. Thank fuck, because it sucked balls. DC Comics needs to get their shit together when it comes to making live-action movies. We hold hands as we walk through the lit lobby. The concession stands are closing, and people are leaving.
Outside, the sky is inky blue, and cars litter the parking lot. We stroll to my Porsche.
“That movie sucked,” I say.
“It was pretty good. Just don’t like that Harley Quinn’s outfit changed. Like the original costume better.” She squeezes my hand tight. “I wanted to see it because of Joker, Harley, and Deadshot. I love Will Smith. He is one of my favorite actors. He is insanely hot and funny.” She stops at the driver’s side of the car and says, “Let me drive.”
“Hell no.”
She walks up to me, holds out her hand. “Now.”
Reluctantly, I drop the keys in her hand and say, “Don’t wreck my second baby.”
“Who is your first baby?” She hits the unlock button on the keypad.
“You are,” I say, before sliding in the passenger side.